


hoax

by myvibraniumheart



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, References to Depression
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:14:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27776683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myvibraniumheart/pseuds/myvibraniumheart
Summary: she vows to turn her back forever. he waits for her to look back.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 10
Kudos: 12





	1. Chapter 1

_“no other sadness in the world would do." - hoax_

* * *

her ring glinted slightly on her finger, her sharp, blood-red nails accenting the sheer paleness of the diamond nestled on the band. a frown slightly marring her usually immaculate appearance, hermione knew that the style was unlike her. granted, she grew away from her old image at hogwarts.

as if that would help the nightmares that followed the war.

tucking a loose curl behind her ear, she barely stifled the soft sigh that left her slightly chapped lips. it had been a difficult winter by herself; her only company was the simple fireplace’s crackle. she _should_ have felt settled, she thought, staring at the idle book on her lap. she was engaged to a well-off muggle in an attempt to stabilize her steadily growing post-traumatic stress.

(in attempt not to feel so solitary.)

he was a doctor who had taken an interest in her while she pursued helping muggles recover from the war that had affected them just as much as the wizarding community, specializing in orphans. it need not be said that she grew fond of them over her years (as she had with defenseless, pitiful things). she was not eighteen anymore, her youthful innocence long gone ever since they were violently considered as fugitives for a time - it had been five years since the fall of the dark lord, and two years since she last saw harry’s green eyes and ron’s ginger mane and never returned.

hermione knew she needed to be away from her kin so she can heal.

_what a hoax._

it took longer to get used to not being able to see her family than to adapt to lessening her use of her wand around common muggle areas. it took even longer than that to get accustomed to not seeing _him_ all the time.

it was hard to believe. everyone knew the _real_ reason why hermione granger left as one of the prominent aurors for the ministry of magic. the truth crossed her mind once in a while (perhaps, time does help fade some things); in moments that she least expected. she shed a tear, perhaps two, and goes on with her day.

some things were better left unsaid.

she takes a new name (it was another attempt) and still writes to her parents from where they were in australia. it was a mundane day-to-day life. the workaholic in her missed the ruckus, the crackling of magic in the air, the boisterous laughter, fully occupied dining table chairs, and meals packed on huge plates.

alas, it was all in the past.

she doesn’t know why she said yes to him. maybe she thought it was too late. maybe she thought she would end up alone.

she was a coward.

wiping a stray tear – how did it even get there? – from her delicate cheek, she tipped the last few contents of her wine glass on her lips. it was yet another snowy night in surrey, england, in her small cottage on the outskirts of town.

she dimly thought about her friends – _him –_ stepping out of the fireplace in a burst of the all-familiar green fire, but it never happens. not in the last two years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hoax is a song by taylor swift.


	2. Chapter 2

_“my broken drum; you have beaten my heart." – hoax_

* * *

the sound of the piano filled his senses and echoed around the empty room. he hadn’t played in what felt like years ago. perhaps it had been – he was just too tired to notice.

the keys were wiped off the dust where his hands were. like himself, it had been deserted for some time.

his heart beat an uncomfortable rhythm against his chest as the melody from his own fingers continued. it was one of the pieces he had studied when he was a boy, a series of notes that he knew with his eyes closed, but he was always too scared to play. his home was almost always filled with unwanted, dark company that did not value him except for his merciless obedience to them. it had been more than five years since the shadows of his life were gone, and still, he was too scared to feel judged, with a deeply rooted inadequacy despite the eerie quiet.

 _she_ never heard this, he thought. she would never get to. she always asked him to play back when the manor was nothing more than a hallowed hall, a home of his past ghosts and his present ones.

silence ensued.

the house, now, would be a foreign sight to _her_. he’d always imagined her stepping on the front porch and placing her slender hands on the newly painted wooden door for the first time. two years, and it never happens.

he pressed a note wrong, and it makes an invasive mix to the ensemble of keys he had been gently caressing with weakened hands. this always happens when a memory comes back. a soft touch, a warm smile, a tight hug – all gone.

a deep sigh was heard; it was like a year old. he was reminded that it was, that it has been a few years but somehow, everything remained the same; only buried in layers of pretense.

empty. cold.

_what went wrong?_

he will never get to drive her around town as he promised, once his pale, slender fingers learn how to do so. he _promised_ , when she was sad, that he would do it – she had a memory of herself and her own parents, and what they used to do when she was home for the summer. they would get in a car and drive; she liked the city lights, and the waves of trees. it gives her calm that she never had after so long.

this, too, never happens.

he will never get to touch her soft hands again. will never get to wrap his scarf around her neck, under all her curls, when she was cold.

the deep silence was interrupted by his soft sob, silver eyes blurring. too many regrets. too many wishes not done. promises left to wilt, as the autumn leaves did. sins that were overlooked, that were never forgiven, as the biting frost once he stepped outside on the blanket of snow.

perhaps, he mused, the isolation stung more. he had lost his great love, his muse.

_she, too, will never forget this._


	3. Chapter 3

“my win-less fight; this has frozen my ground.” - hoax

* * *

“i would like to have heard from _you_ , of all people, that it was _okay_ to feel this way, to feel sad, distraught, _devastated_ –”

“why would you be sad, when you have me? all is done, all have been recovering. you _never_ lost anyone in all this.”

she stared at him blankly, the shock of the words he had uttered sinking in.

“and i’m sure _everyone_ feels the same as you do,” he continued arrogantly, “you are not the only one feeling that way –”

she regained her senses. “how _dare_ –”

“i _told_ you to spend some time out of our chambers, get some fresh air –”

“fuck you. fuck _off_.”

“you _never_ lost anyone, not like me, who lost _everything_ –”

hermione granger’s hazel eyes flashed a pained look at draco malfoy, who stopped mid-sentence, his silver eyes sparking what it appeared to be concern. or perhaps, regret, which was, as always, too late. the incessant throbbing of her chest; heavy, bordering painful, weighed her down.

who was this person? how did she even come to this place, the place she hated? the place where she gained the searing scar on her forearm, where she felt ghosts of her past continuously lurked and slowly driving her to the edge of what she could take.

“i don’t… recognize you,” she whispered, more to herself than to him, before falling back down on her warm bed, her back to him, her energy dwindled to ashes.

_of all people, i thought you would have understood._

* * *

she was idiotic, at best.

at worst, she was lost for words on how to describe herself, and what she has become.

she hated herself for many reasons; had too many mistakes and regrets that were best left, again, unsaid. denial may have become her constant friend, other than the alcohol, which made her feel that her tongue was on fire, but her soul emptied. she barely recognized herself under the blanket of darkened eyes, her once-radiant features replaced by a gauntness that was unbeknownst to her in the past.

the nightmares dulled some, but every waking moment was a tar pit she continually sunk into.

this was how she was. gone were the days where she bravely fought every nameless monster with vitality. she had her own demons to face, and perhaps this was where she was caught unawares; her strength seeped from her in the last few days that she was with the people from her old life.

 _where was my wand?_ she idly thought, shivering in the plunging cold and darkness. the isolated bridge was her only sounding board of unspoken frustrations and disappointments, its dimly lit lamps struggling for the breath of life. she looked at the river below, eyes traveling far beyond the densely frozen depths.

hermione was uncertain how her shoe ended up on one of the lower railings of the bridge, gloved fingers resting on the uncomfortably cool surface above it. she tipped her head over, looking at the seemingly dark abyss below.

“stop,” a foreign voice called out, loud and clear, piercing her mind’s disarray. she pulled herself back to the present. it was getting too much to bear. she needed to stop living in the past; it has gone and will never return. she had turned her back with the intention to keep walking – _running_ – despite sad eyes watching her shut the door.

“let’s talk about this,” the voice said again. she dared not look at him, but his voice was familiar. it was someone she barely knew – a neighbor three doors down, but truthfully, with her spiraling deep into what it felt like insanity, she would have thought it was _his_ voice.

it was not, and it will never be. she was god knows how many miles away. she made sure she was not followed, and never will be. she changed her name, her hair, her clothes. she was still the brightest despite her scarred hands and bruised mind, and she made sure that this was so.

the one thing that never changed was –

“talk about what,” she breathed, speaking for what seemed like an eternity. she wasn’t doing anything in particular, was she? (perhaps she also denied that she was five inches away from her irrelevant demise).

“this,” the doctor repeated, and from the corner of her eye, she saw him walk closer, holding his hand out; he was a medical muggle, was he not? said ‘hello’ to her a few times while walking to the shabby, nearby grocery store. she didn’t have the heart to answer back; only giving a curt nod. if anything, she wanted nothing to do with men.

she chided herself that it was her ode to a lost lover; a promise that she intended to keep (for once). she would never betray _him_.

the breeze hit her fresh on the face like a livening _smack_. it woke her up slightly; stinging her face and nearly freezing over her tears – again with the wetness on her cheeks that she didn’t feel were there.

hermione stepped down from the unforgiving railings. she somehow saw the stranger release a pained breath. she was grateful that he didn’t come any closer.

turning away from him and shoving her shaking hands in her coat pockets, she walked the way back home.

another mundane day.


	4. Chapter 4

_“my twisted knife; my sleepless night.” - hoax_

* * *

“you told her that,” parkinson deadpanned, a cigarette dangling from her ruby lips, her perfectly arched brow directed at him. if draco knew anything, it was that pansy almost always meant well. almost, save for her brutal honesty that he never knew he needed, hitting him square in the jaw and leaving him winded.

perhaps pansy never doubted his idiocy, particularly with words of reassurance and warmth. she herself experienced that, in their younger years – draco wished he had been less callous to her, to _anyone_ , truthfully. it was better to have been hit by a curse, he mused, rather than hear and realize his own faults – too late at that.

he didn’t gratify her with a response. he already knew that she thought he was stupid.

looking away towards the crackling fireplace, his eyebrows slightly furrowed, he took a sip of his delicately aged brandy. it should have burned his tongue, but it seemed like fire and ashes was all he knew now.

“and she…?” the witch gestured to the empty drawing room.

_is gone. one week ago._

draco nodded, as it was the only response he could afford to give. he was devoid of life. (he tried to ignore his shaking hands as he drank.) the raven-haired witch softly clicked her tongue, lighting her cigarette.

“potter and the others?” pansy offered, knowing that he may have already looked for her there. somehow, draco felt that she knew she wouldn’t be there in the first place if hermione granger hadn’t left the manor and if he knew where to find her.

perhaps she was trying to get him to talk, to breathe, to get _something_ out of him. draco shook his head with a soft sigh. he had already gone to see his colleagues at the ministry on the first day of her being gone. though he was shunned by the majority due to his family’s history and his own crimes, these sins also resulted in him being bound to a lifetime of servitude to the ministry with no other choice.

(a cruel twist of fate, hermione, and both her meddling friends were stuck with him _,_ or he, them, which, he thought, somehow worked in his favor as being an auror was one of his more redeemable suits. although, again, he repeated to himself, _it was infinitely better than sleeping in a cold cell in the middle of the ocean_.)

granted, years had passed and he still cannot stand the presence and the apparent boisterousness of the two men _his_ hermione – he choked, was it still right to call her that? – called her friends. somehow, he felt a certain civility, and somehow, calm, from potter, in particular. perhaps the ever-irritating bespectacled boy thought, somehow, that he chose the right path. (did he?) draco was not sure if he appreciated it, or if he should be worried about it.

he pushed his luck in falling for her, he knew. he did, despite the stares. despite the judgment, the prying eyes. he did his best to love her. to show her, and everyone, that he was also worth loving despite his past. to be forgiven. to be seen in a different light.

she gave her that chance. one chance. still, he pushed his luck, yet he also knew that the time would come that he will run out of it.

“hermione… she’s gone. i can’t… find her,” he crumbled, forgetting for once how to be ashamed to show weakness.

they searched for her.

(but then, someone who would not want to be found may just as well be lost forever.)

days had passed. with little to no options left except the muggle world, which was beyond vast than he could ever imagine, draco only received the same devastated stares, potter and weasley distraught.

and he thought he was the only one.

he tried not to think back how crushed he was finding her solitary space emptied, pillows neatly stacked together, the pure, regal duvet folded. it was resounding memory in his mind, the silence. the manor was as barren as ever, even more so than the time that she has yet to set foot within its walls. sometimes, he wished she never did, but he knew himself well enough that he didn’t mean that.

he loved her too much.

it was too much to remember. to be left behind.

he didn’t understand. he tried the best that he could, but perhaps the way he knew how was wrong. maybe the was wrong. maybe he was.

maybe if he hadn’t said that. maybe if he hadn’t left her in isolation for so long. maybe. maybe she would still be there, brown eyes smiling at him. maybe he should have tried harder to be there for her.

he hadn’t had a lot of time with her if he admitted it to himself. it scared him when her smiles turned into blank stares onto open space, and that she spent a lot of her time away from work. she needed to rest, she said, she needed some time, to be quiet. she never read again, never wrote anything, she rested, on that cage she called the bed of hers, past what draco felt like the point of no return. he thought there was a lot that she didn’t say to him, and it made him think if that was his own fault.

too many questions.

“you fucked up,” pansy said simply, her voice taking him back to his present misery, his body aching in too many places. he was exhausted. he has not slept. he was tired. draco ran his tired fingers over his pale hair. _he knows_. he almost _scoffed_. of course, he knew.

at least that took something out of him. “you’re gonna keep looking?” she pressed on, smoke billowing from her parted lips.

he doesn’t know.


End file.
